SUMMARY: TNG, P, Q. Sequel to "Raison d'Q". Despite having
passed judgment on humanity, Q returns to see Picard again.
C'est La Q, by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)
*'Do you know, Jean-Luc, that the hardest thing about knowing what
you're for is not liking it?'*
Q's question reverberated in Captain Picard's mind. Two days after
Q's pronouncement, Picard still struggled with what he was supposed
to make of it. He supposed he might not know what to make of it if
even two *decades* had passed between then and now.
Two days ago, Q had appeared suddenly in his ready room and told
Picard that he was humanity's judge, and that he had finally come
to a decision -- humanity could not be spared. They would have be
sent back to their home planet -- planets, now, unless the Q
Continuum intended to move several hundred thousand billion people
all to Earth -- where they would stay until humanity had
demonstrated enough maturity to move beyond that.
And yet, Q had felt guilty. Enough so to spare humanity from that
fate. For the short span of Picard's lifetime.
And Picard felt puzzled by that decision. For the span of *his*
lifetime? Why was he so important to Q? And what possible
recompense did Q expect for this? Despite Q's hints that he was
interested in Picard, it seemed ridiculous that Q should spare
humanity for Picard's sake.
Or was it all a test? Some sort of game that Q was playing? That
made more sense, really. Picard could see it as a situation where
Q expected him to gain some enlightment out of this, and then save
humanity again. That made much more sense than Q's stated
intentions.
And yet, Picard could not forget the tone of Q's voice, or the deep
regret the entity had displayed for the actions he must take. This
was serious to Q, deeply serious.
Which only left Picard confused. He had sent a report to Starfleet
Command. The Federation would have the information, although he
doubted that anything useful could be done with it. That was the
end of his by-the-book responsibilities. But not the end of his
feeling of responsibility. If Q could be convinced to spare the
human race during Picard's lifetime for some unknown motive, then
that argued strongly that Picard might be able to convince him to
spare humanity altogether. And if he could, then he had to. It
was his duty, both as a sworn officer and as the man that he was.
But how?
Picard stood, facing the view of the stars, trying hard to think of
something. But the possibilities suggesting themselves were not
things he could or would want to attempt.
"So don't try," a voice said.
"Hello, Q," Picard said without turning. He closed his eyes for a
long moment, before finally looking at the omnipotent being now
sitting in a chair in his bedroom. "If I can try, then I must. I
see no other option."
"Don't insult me with charity, Jean-Luc. I don't want it, and even
if I did, you don't want to give it. And that would make it
worthless."
A dull flush climbed Picard's face, and he clamped his jaw tightly
together. "I didn't specify what I meant to try," he replied
curtly.
"Why pretend? I know exactly what you were thinking, and you were
repelled by the notion. I..." Q hesitated for a moment, "Never
mind. I didn't come here for that."
"Then what did you come for?"
Q looked uneasy. "I don't know."
"Then it could be..." Picard broke off suddenly.
"Is it so hard even to say? Are you that repressed inside? Surely
the great Jean-Luc can at least put it into words?"
"Yes, I can say it. But I find it impossible to believe that you
would have spared the human race from a fate that could only lead
to savagery and barbarism because of something as trivial as sexual
attraction."
"You're very perceptive. For a human. I didn't."
Picard flushed again. "Then what? Surely you could tell me? It
would be a great relief to know why you've granted me the so-called
honor of being the savior of the human race. It is not a
comfortable position to be in."
"Jean-Luc, what do you most want from your life?"
Picard eyed him warily. "Is this a topic change?"
"Humor me. Please. What do you want?"
It was hard to resist Q when he pleaded, although Picard had had
some practice at it. "I would like an answer to my question."
"Good for you." Q was dressed in a Starfleet captain's uniform,
something that had always annoyed Picard, since his instinctive
response to that uniform was respect -- an emotion he did *not*
care to accord to Q. Q used it now, leaning forward. "You don't
realize what's at stake here, Jean-Luc. You... you think it's only
you and your petty little race, as though it matters much to anyone
in the Continuum what happens to you or it."
"I don't care," Picard said flatly. "The fate of the human race
*is* of paramount importance to me. It cannot be any other way."
"No," Q said slowly. "I suppose it couldn't be. You couldn't
bring yourself to care about..."
"What?"
"Nothing. It's not important."
"Q, stop playing your games. I'm tired of metaphor and parables.
Tell me plainly why you're here and what you want."
Q's form shimmered for a moment, sparks fluttering at the edge of
his image before he brought his form back under control. "The only
way I can speak to you, Jean-Luc, is in parables. Your language,
your *mind* does not hold the concepts I am trying to communicate.
Everything I am attempting to convey is an interpretation, a story
that your limited understanding *might* be able to comprehend. I
could tell you what I wanted and what I was here for, and it would
mean as much to you as though I had said, 'Two eggs, five pounds of
butter and a live hog'. It would be literally incomprehensible."
"Try me."
"Very well. I need justification."
"Excuse me?"
"Exactly as I said. You couldn't possibly understand."
"The only reason I don't understand is that you haven't explained
yourself," Picard said. "Why do you need justification?"
"What do you want most from your life?"
Picard hesitated. "If this is a..."
"Humor me, Picard."
"I fail to see the point..."
"I'm aware of that."
"...as I feel that I've adequately answered this before. When you
asked me what I was for. I believe that my purpose is to serve
humanity in the best way that I can, and that my particular talents
and skills make being captain of a starship the best place for me
at the current time."
Q eyed him condescendingly. "Except that wasn't the question. I
*know* you already answered that. *I'm* not stupid. What do you
*want* most?"
"Similar things I suppose. To ensure peace for the Federation, to
continue exploring the galaxy..."
"Are those what *you* really want, Jean-Luc? Are they your heart's
desire, the secret longings, the little part of life that belongs
to you alone?"
"I suppose there might be other things..."
"A ha!" A bright light flickered at the edges of Q's form, briefly
haloing him in mystical light. "And what *do* you want most?"
"At the moment, or for my whole life?"
Q seemed to dim. "Ah, yes. A very good question indeed. And who
can see beyond this moment?"
"You, I suppose," Picard said.
"No. I can't. Omniscience is fine as it goes, but my own future
-- which is inextricably bound up with that of humanity -- is
tangled and difficult for me to unweave. Looking at it causes it
to change; a different future forms each time. I can, at best,
guess. Your own future..."
"Yes?"
"I can see your future, Jean-Luc. Some of it. The parts which I
have nothing to do with. And stop praising the deity for that. I
can hear you thinking it."
Picard didn't bother to deny it. The notion that Q would have
little to do with his future was an attractive one. "What *can*
you see of my future?"
Q dimmed further. "You do realize that your life continues to
entangle -- for lack of a better word -- with mine after this? I
couldn't say clearly..."
"Are you *stalling*?" Picard asked, a little incredulous. He felt
silly asking Q his future as though the entity were a Gypsy
fortune-teller, but it had seemed almost that Q *wanted* to tell
him, and that he might be able to gain some insight this way. Now
that Q was hesitating, the answer began to appear even more
important. "Q, what *can* you tell me?"
"Jean-Luc, I..." Q broke off, and a little illumination seemed to
steal back into the room. "Yes, I suppose I must tell you. I see
you resigning your career and returning to Earth, after you decide
that I will really judge humanity. You will attempt to save the
human race on your own, and it will be a noble effort, although an
ultimately doomed one. I suppose it only proves your lack of
intelligence that you try. You live a long, long life, and finally
die."
"And what of humanity?"
Q's posture did not change, but the casual slouch seemed now more
infinite sadness than disregard for standards of deportment. "You
fail, Jean-Luc. You make a heroic effort, but you fail."
"I see," Picard said.
"Do you? I doubt it. You have a difficult time conceiving of
failure, and an even more difficult time dealing with it."
"Are you so certain then that I fail?"
"I do not see you succeeding. But, it is true that beyond your
death, everything becomes a muddle, not that things are precisely
clear before. The future and you are woven with multi-patterned
threads, and I... I begin to doubt even in the soundness of my
judgment. I knew before that I did not wish to judge, and now,
with the future growing stranger and less visible, I don't even
know if-- if my decision was appropriate."
"Then don't do it," Picard said harshly. "Prevent me from needing
to try and fail."
"It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is. If you do not wish to do it, then do not."
"How very Yoda-like of you, Jean-Luc. I'm honored. However, it
really is not that simple. I... I think my judgment is impaired,
so to speak." He looked at Picard, and tendrils of energy seemed
to flow out from him, reaching toward the captain. "You are -- how
can I put this? -- an unexpected variable. Everything I see
flowing from this decision is clouded, and even more so after you
die." A whimsical smile crossed his face. "Imagine this,
Jean-Luc. I'm sure it will amuse you -- among the murky futures,
I have even seen myself mourning at your grave. After your death,
I renounce my powers and become purely human, immolating myself for
your precious human race, baring my soul in an attempt to prise
forth the secrets it needs to find maturity, and dying in that
struggle. *Dying*, Jean-Luc. Can you even touch a tiny part of
how unthinkable that is for a Q, and how unseemly that I immerse
myself in that rankness?"
"It sounds noble, Q," Picard said in a quiet voice, beginning to
see the depths of conflict inside the entity. "It sounds like an
admirable action."
Q shook himself, getting himself under control and causing Picard
to suffer a small electrical shock as the many tendrils of energy
stuffed themselves back inside Q. "Admirable? Hah. Sappy and
unworthy of me is more like it. What does it say that I would
grieve so much over a *human* that I choose to give up my
omnipotence to save his race -- when he's already dead? Foolish
and sentimental. That's what it would be. How everyone would
laugh."
The human in question stiffened. "It is nothing of the kind."
"Is so."
"It is most definitely not. How is it better to pass judgment on
humanity and then allow it -- no, *force* it -- to sink back into
an uncivilized, primitive state?"
"It's no better than you deserve," Q murmured.
"Do you *really* believe that? Are the Q so removed from their own
evolutionary process, so devoid in the maturity that they claim
humanity must have that they can coldly cause an entire species to
fall into barbarism and then say that we must have deserved it?"
"Yes. Because it's true."
"No, it is not. I refuse to accept that."
"Bravo. As though the universe is ordered based on what Jean-Luc
Picard chooses to accept and not accept. You have the arrogance of
a much more powerful being."
"Like yourself?"
Q shook his finger at Picard chidingly. "Ah-ah-ah. You can't
catch me that easily, Jean-Luc. You may think that the Q can order
the universe, and to some extent, you are, naturally, correct. But
in this matter, there is no such ambiguity."
"Then why bother returning at all?" Picard asked in a final sort of
way. "Why put me through this charade? Why bother even
maintaining a charade for the duration of my life? Why not just
judge humanity at this moment and carry out your sentence? If I am
to believe you, then you are ready to do that. Why haven't you?
You certainly aren't pleasing me any by staying your verdict."
What light there was in the room dimmed and diminished until only
a faint glow around Q illuminated the room. "Is that what you
would have me do, Jean-Luc?" the entity asked quietly. "End
humanity here, and your grand quest with it?"
"If there is no other hope, then I see no purpose in delaying that
fate. It serves no one, least of all me, to delay it."
"I had thought... wished perhaps... that there might be a purpose.
You don't understand any better now than you did before what I
meant by seeking justification, do you?"
"No, Q, I'm afraid I don't," Picard replied.
"Well, well. No better than I might have expected from you. But
if I can't find it, it would be pathetic indeed for a human to find
it for me."
"What kind of justification are you looking for, Q? And for what?
Justification for condemning humanity? You won't find any of that
here."
"You wouldn't understand. But-- if anything, I seek justification
for sparing it. For my inexplicable desire to allow it to continue
as long as you are in it." Danger flickered about him, the sparks
shockingly bright in the darkened room. "The Continuum disapproves
of my weakness. They will not interfere as long as I stay true to
the purpose for which I was made, it being self-evident to them
that I can do no wrong as long as I serve that purpose. But that
which is self-evident to them is not so to me."
"Perhaps you're developing a conscience."
"You're mocking me. Or pitying me. Either way, I don't want to
hear you saying it or thinking it. I--" He broke off and looked
intently at Picard. "I can't help but think that you are somehow
to blame for my current mental state. And I intend to discover how
to undo that niggling sense of doubt and doom. Since you are to
blame, it seems that we're stuck together. At least until what has
been done is undone."
"What?" Picard asked incredulously. "Q, you can't be proposing--"
"No, actually, I'm not. I'd make a very bad husband. Not that I
wouldn't look good in the tuxedo. However, I do believe that the
correct term *is* 'til death do us part'."
And Q smiled, very sadly, at Picard.
-the end-